


giving up (it don't feel right)

by intimatopia



Category: Persona 5
Genre: 2/2, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:47:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29137311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intimatopia/pseuds/intimatopia
Summary: Akira follows Akechi out of LeBlanc.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira
Comments: 9
Kudos: 115





	giving up (it don't feel right)

**Author's Note:**

> title song: i'll be holding by miel

Akira ran out after him. Of course he would think something so painfully unnecessary but dramatic was the right thing to do (maybe in his head it was the _only_ thing to do) and of course he did not hesitate to do it.

“Go back inside,” Akechi hissed, turning around before Akira could lay a hand on him.

Ever since Akechi had woken up in this miserable imitation of reality, Akira had been the only clear thing. Even now, his features cut through the shimmering facade of Maruki’s world like a knife through tender flesh, his grey eyes flint-hard and almost golden in the light spilling out of Leblanc’s open door.

“No,” Akira said. He said it like it was a normal thing to say.

Akechi hated him. He’d hated him from the minute he woke up in this world. He hated him for wanting Akechi so badly it had brought him back, and for not understanding what that meant.

“I won’t be party to your stupid hero complex,” Akechi snarled. He stepped out of Akira’s reach, walking down the street with long strides like that would prevent Akira from catching up—like anything short of stepping off a bridge would prevent Akira from catching up.

He couldn’t be sure even that would stop Akira. He did _not_ want to find out.

“Goro,” Akira said behind him, voice crawling under Goro’s skin like a fishhook. “This isn’t about me.”

“A first in your life,” Goro snapped. _And mine._

“It isn’t.” Akira was closer now, his voice making Goro shiver. “I know you don’t care about my feelings—”

Goro made a derisive sound, only partly to cover up the pain that lanced through him at the casual acknowledgement of his failure.

“But it’s your last night,” Akira continued. “I don’t want you to be alone.”

“You assume I’d want to spend it with _you_ ,” Goro sniped. It felt half-hearted, injured despite his best effort to not be. What he wanted to say was, _of course I care about your stupid feelings, they landed me in this mess._

_Can’t you see that I’m trying to protect you?_

Akira was smiling crookedly when Goro looked back. The expression scared Goro more than he wanted to admit, even to himself. There was too much sadness in it, an emotion Goro always managed to cause if he didn’t watch himself.

“Come back,” Akira said softly.

“Remember what I said about _mercy,_ ” Goro replied, bitter and tired. _I hate you._

“I remember.” Akira took a deep breath, like he was steeling himself for rejection. “If it wouldn’t make you happy, you don’t have to.”

“I won’t do it for your sake,” Goro warned, because he _would_ and he hated himself for it. “There’s nothing in this world that could make me happy, anyway.”

Akira huffed a laugh. His breath misted in the late evening air, but even that couldn’t obscure the way he stood out among the illusions like a beacon in the dark. It hurt to look at, and Goro couldn’t pull his eyes away.

“Last chance,” Akira said finally, holding out a hand.

Goro curled his hands into fists so he wouldn’t take it, swept inside past Akira so he wouldn’t see the furious shame on Goro’s face. He didn’t understand how he managed to be so weak, when the path of strength was clearer than it had ever been.

But he flinched when Akira touched him, more from the surprise than real fear. “What—” he started, was cut off by Akira’s mouth pressing against his.

As far as first kisses went, it was a tragedy. Akira kissed better than Goro would ever learn to, and he knew how to use it—a hand pressed lightly against Goro’s upper arm, steadying them both; a firmness that brooked no argument.

Goro’s head swam with it. He took too long to gather himself up enough to push Akira away.

Akira rocked on his heels, taking his hand and its warmth back. “Was that alright?”

“Do you have _any_ sense of self-preservation?” Goro asked incredulously. His body felt like a live wire, waiting for another brush of exposed skin to unleash its coiled energy against. He wanted Akira to touch him again. He _wanted_ in the same stupid way some pathetic part of him wanted to stay, to be _asked_ to stay, to find out what Akira would have given him if he had the chance.

“What do you think?” Akira smiled.

“That you’re an _idiot_ ,” Goro said harshly, clenching his hands again. They weren’t warm, even with the gloves on. He hated the way sharpness spilled from his mouth like he’d always hidden the worst of himself away in anticipation of the day Akira would be close enough to hurt. 

He _hadn’t._ He no longer attempted to defend himself, even in his head, but he hated that all he could do for Akira was hurt him and push him away until he learnt Goro couldn’t— _wouldn’t_ —be saved. It felt like screaming into the void, begging for the impossible; for Akira to give up the version of Goro that knew how to be good because he’d never been anything else for the version of him that was a broken knife without a handle. 

“You’d walk into traffic if you had no one stopping you,” he finished—too late. Akira had always been better at reading between the lines than people wanted to give him credit for.

“Goro,” Akira started.

“No,” Goro said, reduced to reflexive contrarian instinct. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

 _My name, you keep saying my name._ Akira had only said it twice, but it echoed, and Goro resented it. He resented the way Akira sounded when he said it. He resented himself most of all, for chasing that thread in Akira’s voice and trying to find whatever Akira saw in him.

He couldn’t find the words in time, shrank back into himself when Akira stepped closer. “I read you wrong,” he said softly.

Strange, how terrifying Akira could be when he wasn’t even trying. Goro had faced down Shadows that could’ve killed Akira’s friends without a twinge of fear, but Akira made him remember how defenseless he truly was—that if Akira decided to exploit it, Goro would forget to protect himself in time.

“You care.” Akira was trying to be careful, visible in the wavering soft edge to his voice. “You care about me. I didn’t _know,_ Goro, I’m sorry.”

“You’re imagining things,” Goro whispered.

Akira stopped, eyes roaming over Goro’s face like he was still looking for something. Goro forced himself to meet his gaze, but it was a blind effort to no outcome when he felt wounded and backed into a corner. 

“Am I?” Akira asked.

Goro opened his mouth to say something, faltered into a ragged sound he couldn’t convince himself was human. Akira wrapped his arms around Goro swiftly, warm and solid and _real_ even if some still-terrified part of him screamed that nothing of the world Goro was used to would hold _him_ so carefully, that Akira had to be an addled construct of an addled mind if only because he did not behave like anything Goro had been raised to expect.

Akira must’ve considered that answer enough. “I’m sorry,” he said, breath ghosting hot against Goro’s ear and making him shudder. “I’m sorry I didn’t see it earlier.” He sounded awestruck. “It’s not like you’ve been subtle.”

“I can’t tell if you’re trying to be insulting,” Goro muttered. “But it would be worse if you’re not.”

Akira took a deep breath, exhaled on a laugh. Goro felt every shift, wrapped in Akira’s arms and too desperate to consider pulling away a second time. 

_Last_ time. He raised his arms tentatively, clinging back. It was alright if Akira had done it first.

“You were,” Akira turned his head to press his mouth against Goro’s temple. No one had touched Goro there since his mother. “You are wonderful, you know.”

Goro’s face heated. “Shut up.”

“You _are_ ,” Akira said, horribly sincere. “And you’re trying to protect me. To protect all of us.”

“Don’t ascribe good intent where none exists.” Goro swallowed; his eyes were burning and he couldn’t take a breath without inhaling the scent that clung to Akira; coffee, laundry detergent, battles. Familiar smells.

Akira traced a finger down Goro’s spine, branding him through layers of cloth. “You can pretend it was selfish all you like,” Akira said firmly. “But it wasn’t. _You_ weren’t.”

“I didn’t do it for them,” Goro amended.

“I know.” 

Maybe it was the unspoken devotion in Akira’s voice that made Goro look up. But he stayed for the crystal reflection in Akira’s eyes, evidence of a truth Goro would have hid from everyone else. Goro didn’t have to say it for Akira to know—would never find the words in time, but—

It hurt to be seen and known. Goro had shrank from that for as long as he could remember, but Akira made it feel like _justice._

He made it feel like he _did_ know, like he didn’t have to be _told_ that Goro loved and cared and wanted, stupidly, for Akira to live in the light Goro had resigned himself to the outskirts of—like every truth Goro had held onto in his darkest moments was Akira’s to have in full. 

It hurt so _much_ to be seen and known, but Goro found he didn’t mind as long as it was Akira.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://ciaran.tumblr.com) & [twitter](https://twitter.com/_intimatopia). comments are appreciated!


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